


Unraveling

by DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Branding, Brothels, F/M, Humbler Draco, Light Angst, Romance, Slow Burn, light humor, nicer draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 04:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17953586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns/pseuds/DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns
Summary: Unraveling someone's mindset was serious business. Was it too late to change her mind?





	Unraveling

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> Level 3 prompts: complete mystery - anyone brave enough to select this level will receive an unrevealed universe all their own, with the ability to create their own scenario within that universe. One claim per prompt, max of 5 so act fast! 
> 
> Forgive me for the lack of a whole lot of steampunk elements. My research went all down the drain :P

Their heeled boots echoed down the hallway, their whispers bounced off the walls.

“And here I thought it didn’t exist.”

“It feels delightful to be on the other side of things.”

“Do you think the lot is ugly?”

“Why would you ask such a thing?”

“It’s a secret for a reason!”

“Because it’s operated by a woman, idiot.”

“We’re in Valhalla. We should do whatever we please as women too.”

Hermione kept her hands clasped firmly together in front of her, not participating in the conversation. Instead, she looked around at the intricate designs in the long corridor, wishing she was anywhere but where she was.

Her comrades Pansy, Ginny, and Susan had brought her to this place under the guise of a ‘new discovery’. Hermione jumped at the opportunity of new information; now that she was privy to the ‘discovery’, she wanted no part in it.

Of course, she had friends that would soon marry a piece of machinery before allowing her to leave their venture.

“Come now, Hermione,” Pansy said as she clapped her navy gloved hands together. “Where would you be without us?”

“In my bedroom with a decent book,” she retorted to the raven-haired woman.

Pansy scoffed while Ginny and Susan rolled their eyes.

“That’s all you do, Hermione,” Susan pointed out. “If it weren’t for us, everyone would assume you were like the clockwork that worked in our family homes.”

Hermione shook her head at the blonde. She never cared what others thought of her, and she said as such.

Ginny bunched up the skirt of her dress, the lace shimmering in the candlelight in the corridor. “As much as I’d like to continue pointing out the facts of our everloving friendship to Hermione, I do believe that we’re getting closer, and I want to be amazed.”

There were hums of agreement from Pansy and Susan along with a huff from Hermione. She’d stomp her boot down and sit in the hallway if there wasn’t a slither of curiosity in her body. The curiosity made her feel dirty because she couldn’t fathom that such a thing existed right under the Prophet’s nose. No matter how high in the air their home stood, things were still hidden beneath the surface.

Hermione was taken away from her thoughts when she heard the ticks of a door opening. The gears spun slowly, widening the door with each tick. It was a bit dramatic to Hermione, but she could judge freely when she returned to her bedchambers.

The three in front of him entered the space one by one, gasps emanating from each of them. By the time Hermione could see what was potentially inside, her reaction was similar to theirs.

The room was spacious, probably fitting at least five air-trams with space to spare. The walls were painted a shade darker than maroon with gold plated gears etched into gold grotesque, curly lines. Red satin was woven on the walls and the seating in the center of the room, leading up to a large stage.

Hermione saw a plethora of women seated already, chatting amongst themselves with fans. Some wore large top hats that could have been distracting if it weren’t for the angle of the seating and the wide stage in the front. Everything was so simple yet so complexing; it fascinated the brunette.

She caught up to her friends who were seated in the back and sat next to them, her lips pursed in thought. Whatever they were saying were drowned out by her focus on the questions in her mind.

How could someone create an atmosphere such as this and keep it a secret for as long as she had? Who was this woman? What was her reasoning for such raunchy entertainment in a–?

“Welcome ladies!” boomed a voice.

Everyone whipped their heads in the direction of the stage. No one was there, but the voice was so commanding and prominent that its source was there.

“You’ve come to learn of our little secret, our little playhouse where we can do what we please. Man does not control us here. _We_ control _man_.”

Shouts and cheers sounded through the room, and Hermione looked around with a skeptical look. She was all for women handling their own, but this was ridiculous.

“Tonight I have a special treat for you lot. We received a darling batch of goodies that I’m just dying to present for your enjoyment for the evening.”

Something about the woman’s statement made the hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck stand up. This was only performance entertainment for women, yes? A sanctuary for women to watch men dance and perform like the establishments for men that were open publically? Surely this wasn’t something that–

A single square from the stage floor opened up, and a tall case rose through the space. The contents couldn’t be seen due to the fact that velvet curtains concealed it. Hermione bit her lip as she listened to the woman’s next words.

“The Wicked Rose presents to you, a bit of heavenly gold. Valhalla’s finest blonds to ever be sold in the city.”

Hermione stopped breathing for a second or two. The shock...the _anger_ that boiled in her body at the scene before her. How dare her friends bring her to this madness? No matter the person, it was inhumane to sell someone.

Her friends must have picked up on her rage because one of their hands gripped her shoulder.

“Hermy,” Susan said tentatively. “We had no idea that…”

“We thought it was one of those night shows, a brothel even,” Ginny added.

Hermione turned her head in their direction sharply. “A _brothel_ ? Was that supposed to make me feel better? I would have tolerated or have been less mortified if I were having to witness men dancing in next to nothing! I will not stay here for _this_.” Hermione began to stand, and none of her friends stopped her.

What surprised her was that they were standing as well. She didn’t listen to the descriptions and reveals of the blond being sold in the case, only the sounds of dresses and boots shuffling down the aisle to the exit.

As soon as she was getting ready to push the door open and free herself from the horrendous place, a nudge to her body in her mind made her look over her shoulder towards the stage. The response was immediate. She’d locked eyes with the man in the case. They were dark in the distance between them, but she could detect the lightness of his hair color clearly. The silver metal rose etched into his face was a clear contrast to his pale, smooth skin.

His muscles weren’t buff or thick, but they had a firm leanness to them in the glass. His expression was hard, but Hermione read something beyond the lines of helplessness. If she didn’t do something now, her heart would forever bleed because she didn’t save this man.

Turning around swiftly, Hermione began to march back down the aisle.

“What in the world are you _doing_?” Pansy questioned.

“Oh no, she’s got that look in her eye,” Susan responded. “Get your satchels ready, this may get horrid.”

Ginny smirked. “I told you guys we should have worn the pantaloons. They’re much better to move in.”

Pansy replied back with a snort. “Pantaloons do nothing for my figure.”

“Getting your arse handed to you would do something for your figure.”

“Enough you two!” Susan exclaimed. “We better stop Hermione from whatever ugliness she tries to unleash on this place.”

When Susan said it, the three ladies turned around to see Hermione pointing firmly at the case, her gaze unmoving from the man inside it.

“I want him,” Hermione announced.

It was quiet for nearly five seconds before chaos erupted in the room. Women tried to argue with Hermione about sharing, and other catty wenches thought they’d attack her. Ginny, Pansy, and Susan made sure that it didn’t happen.

Hermione kept true and repeated herself. “I have more than enough to pay for him.”

The fact that Hermione didn’t question the price, only stating she could afford it was enough for the women to back off. Her anger mixed with a ferocious power inside the young woman practically cackled through her fluffy curls.

“Bold woman. I like that,” the announcer said through the speaker. “Going once…”

Ginny released the hold she had on a woman’s hair and dusted herself off.

“Going twice…”

Pansy tossed Susan a top hat that belonged to one of the other women. “I have to disagree with you, Susan. Hermione has done something so beautiful.”

“Sold to the spunky brunette!”

Hermione dropped her arm after the transaction was official. She didn’t have time to register in her mind what she’d just done because she had to remind herself that she was doing this for good intentions. Though she could never shake the look the man with the dark eyes had given her.

Probably because he was _still_ giving her that look.

* * *

 

Hermione tossed her satchel carelessly towards her desk chair and sighed, running her fingers through her hair. The evening did not go as Hermione had hoped, but at the price of her discomfort, she saved a man’s life from captivity under a potentially dangerous woman.

If her friends heard her say that, she’d have pillows thrown at her.

She chuckled to herself, getting ready to loosen the corset (aka the breath sucker) when she felt another set of hands on the laces holding the corset up. Hermione squeaked and turned around, coming face to face with the blond who was technically still in her possession.

Damn it all if she’d forgotten he actually came home with her. The back of her mind decided it was the perfect time to note that his eyes were actually a stormy grey, similar to the colors of the clouds they created to shield the piercing sunlight.

“Y-You don’t do that,” she said finally before clearing her throat.

“Then what did you buy me for?” he questioned with a frown and narrowed eyes.

Hermione fixed her posture. “To free you.”

The blond blinked before leaning back with laughter. “You think that because you bought me I’d be free?”

She bit her lip. “Well, I won’t order you around or anything, and you’re free to go as you please. The papers in my satchel mean nothing other than you won’t have to succumb to a wretched woman’s whim.”

He folded his arms. “And I’m to expect you aren’t a wretched woman?”

Her nose flared. “I bought you to be free! How am I wretched?”

“You don’t even know my name, yet you think I’ll just believe every word you say?”

Hermione paused for a moment, thinking about his words. His name wasn’t on the papers that signed ownership over to her (she shuddered the entire time), so the thought slipped her mind. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at her own carelessness.

“Don’t beat yourself over it, sweetheart. I’m Draco.”

She raised her brow. “Do you have a surname?”

He shook his head. “Even if I did, I don’t remember it. My father sold me after my mother died when I was five. I’ve been in and out of the trade for as long as I can remember.”

Hermione’s thoughts must have shown through her face because Draco scowled.

“I don’t need your pity, Miss Granger. I was perfectly fine with the likes of those wealthy women you call wenches. Traveled through plenty of aerial cities before being shipped to Valhalla. Quite the humbling and lavish experience.”

“Not humbling enough,” she muttered before shaking her head. “Look. Wouldn’t you want a way out? A way that doesn’t involve being told what to do?”

Draco’s face had hardened, but his eyes showed that he was thinking. “You can’t unravel twenty years worth of mannerisms just because you say that I’m free,” he said. “It’s not some off and on switch like some of the maintenance workers in Rapture or air-trams.”

Hermione glanced at the floor. She wanted him so desperately to see that there was more to life than his captivity. She felt the need to do this now more than ever. Yet he was so damn stubborn that it wouldn’t be easy no matter what she did.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione spun around and squeezed her eyes shut. “Untie me.”

“What?”

“I said untie me.”

She felt so bad ordering him to do it, but the minute her body felt his fingers moving quickly to untie her, her conscious didn’t think it’d be so bad.

 _No_ , Hermione. There’s a goal here. If she could order him into doing simple things, she could ease her orders into things he could do on his own free will. It was perfect.

* * *

 

Her plan was not so perfect as she thought. Every time she tried to order him to do something simple around the home, Hermione felt compelled to tell him nevermind and do it herself. They’d gotten into a heated argument about her indecisiveness at least ten times in the last two weeks.

_“Damn it, Miss Granger! You can’t ask me for my services only to turn the decision around.”_

_“I know, I know. I just feel so guilty.”_

_“You shouldn’t have bought me then. Send me back like all the others!”_

After that particular argument, there was no way Hermione was going to throw that man back into that hell hole. She had to suck it up as much as she could. God, her friends didn’t help matters at all.

_“Have you slept with him yet?” Pansy asked. They were watching a few of the sportsmen on the field in the park shooting their pistols (as well as their egos) and extending their arm machines in crochet._

_“Pansy!” Hermione exclaimed. “No!”_

_Ginny rolled her eyes. “Hermione’s the last one of us we have to worry about with sex. We know this.”_

_Susan placed a hand on Ginny’s shoulder and gave Hermione a sympathetic look. “You know she doesn’t mean it in a bad way.”_

_“Of course not!” Ginny replied, “It’s just the truth. Hermione has no shame in it, right Hermy?”_

_Hermione groaned and placed her face in her hands. Lovely set of friends she had._

_“I say that you should do it before he finally decides he can be a free man. He had to be ‘golden’ for a reason, yeah? Let me know how it goes too,” Pansy said. “I know about the dark-haired men and redheads. Ginny’s brother–”_

_“La, la, la! I can’t hear you anymore,” Ginny interrupted, placing her dark goggles on her eyes and covering her ears. Susan, Pansy, and Hermione laughed._

_“Very mature,” Susan remarked. She gave Hermione a glance that the brunette interpreted as ‘I’m with Pansy on this.’_

True. Hermione hadn’t been with anyone for nearly a year since her ex-boyfriend rushed off to another of the aerial cities to become an inventor of the stars. He didn’t even bother inviting her, just taking his leave with a simple letter on her bedside table.

She would never take advantage of someone like Draco for her own pleasures, much less because her friends thought that it was a good idea. As of late, their good ideas sucked more than getting stuck mid-air on the air-tram.

The brunette laid on her stomach on the floor in the library, her book perched in two gunmetal hands posing as a book stand. As wide and humongous her sanctuary was, Hermione preferred this because it made her feel like a child again; those were the good, nonstressful days.

She flipped the page to read the next scene in her book when she felt Draco’s hands on her shoulders. He straddled her back and started to knead the muscles in her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her body refusing to react as her mind wanted to by pushing him away.

“Giving you a massage, Miss Granger,” Draco replied. “You’re supposed to be intelligent, yeah?”

Hermione huffed and clenched her fist. She didn’t care what ‘humbling experience’ the male had gone through; he still had a mouth that would get him whacked with a book with no remorse.

“Why are you giving me a massage?” she answered.

Draco rolled his thumb on her shoulder, and Hermione was slowly falling into the relaxation of the gesture. “I know what you’re up to, and the past two weeks have shown me that you’re insufferable, a know-it-all, aggressive–”

“You’re too kind,” she murmured sarcastically.

“–compassionate, intelligent, and caring. I hate to admit this, but you’re right. I do want to live freely without being told otherwise. I want to be free and be the man I could have been if I had a decent father,” he continued as if she hadn’t said anything at all. “It took two weeks living in this home of yours to come to terms with a decent reality. Consider this an acknowledgment without you having to force out an order.”

Hermione wanted to find something intellectual or at least comprehensive to say in return, but the ministrations of his hands on her back were doing wonders and clouding her mind. So she hummed instead.

She didn’t see the smug and sly grin on his face, but she could feel his confidence as he moved his hands from her shoulders to her back. She wasn’t wearing one of her usual dresses as she did with the girls. In the comforts of her own home, Hermione would wear brown pantaloons almost a size bigger (though cinched at the waist to keep them held up) and a large fluffy sweater that would hang off her shoulders at times. Her hair was clipped back by a few clock pins that produced calming sounds if she pressed them. That was her invention by the way.

Nevertheless, her clothing made it easier for Draco to have access to her body, and her body was responding in the way her mind didn’t want to. His finger trailed down her spine, sending shivers through her entire body.

“Can you hurry the massage please,” Hermione said quickly, the contents of her book forgotten. She could hear his deep chuckle, and she closed her eyes in hopes that when she woke up it’d be a dream.

* * *

 

It’d been a month since Hermione had taken Draco away from his former life; nothing had been completely dreadful so far. Perhaps Draco had helped her in ways she didn’t realize she had needed herself. In ways that she wouldn’t admit to anyone, not even the clock on the walls.

Hermione was standing on the balcony of her home, watching the sun beginning to fall in the distance. Soon enough, the moon and stars would take its place. She heard Draco walking to her side and turned in his direction.

“I want to try my hand at true freedom,” he said.

 _‘No beating around the gears with him,’_ she thought before nodding. “It’s what I’ve wanted from the beginning.”

Draco leaned against the rail. He looked down at the other gothic buildings and machines roaming about the streets. “I know, and I was a prick about it.”

“ _Are_ a prick about it,” Hermione corrected.

The blond waved his hand carelessly. “Whatever. Anyway, I want to try it here, if you’d let me.”

Hermione looked at him, completely looked at him and saw that helpless face she saw from the beginning. He didn’t have anywhere to go, and she couldn’t fathom the thought of him finding his father.

“You’re always welcome here, Draco,” Hermione said, caressing his cheek. She rubbed her thumb over the metal rose planted on his cheek, feeling the coolness of the material. “Find your freedom with me.”

He smiled a genuine smile, not the sardonic ones he sported over the month. “Thank you, Miss Granger.”

Hermione smiled in return, her heart fluttering in her chest. “Call me Hermione.”

Draco leaned forward as if he was going to kiss her, only to plant his lips on the corner of hers. “I’ll show you how experienced I am later,” he whispered. “Hermione.”

Was it too late to make him call her Miss Granger again?


End file.
